Numbers
by UnicornPlate
Summary: The number ticks above everyone's head, no exceptions. What do you do when your best friend's number is almost up?


Real quick oneshot before finals and before summer vacation. This AU is based off of zanetehaiden's Tumblr post, which reads as follows:

Imagine if we lived in a world where you could see the exact date when everyone is going to die except for yourself

And then one day people start acting nice to you. Like, _really _nice.

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia**

* * *

Alfred and Arthur were lounging around in the sunroom, not particularly doing anything. Alfred was content, however, shown by his soft humming of the Star Spangled Banner. Arthur, on the other hand, was far from comfortable. He stared at the number above Alfred's head. The dull gnawing feeling at his chest that had been there since he had arrived intensified.

"Hey, Alfred," he said softly.

"Hm?"

"Are you… feeling alright?"

Alfred sprang up and examined him limbs and felt his forehead for signs of illness.

"Feelin' as good as ever. Why?"

Arthur sat up and shifted in his chair. "Nothing," he said, eyes cast down, "It's allergy season." He dared to look up at the numbers again. They were much bigger the last time he had seen them. Years and years longer. What had happened?

The American sauntered over to the window. "So it is," he said while pulling back the white curtains to examine the flowers.

The number was only getting smaller.

"Wanna do something today? You know, before I…" Alfred trailed off, taking back the last sentence.

The other man didn't notice. Arthur wanted to scream. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. He knew that everyone had a time and he knew that he shouldn't let those numbers affect him, but goddammit they hurt. All those years of mandatory desensitizing training were useless. Here he was, insides burning and screaming all because of fucking _numbers_. But he couldn't say anything about it. It was even taboo to look at other people's numbers, but everyone did anyway. Nobody dared to speak about them. Nobody.

"Let's go to the park," Arthur offered. Alfred's face lit up.

"_The _park?"

Arthur chuckled, despite the hole developing in his chest. "Yes, _that_ park."

Alfred hollered out of joy and ran to another room. Arthur could hear him yelling for the chauffer to get ready and for someone to find his favorite football. When the yelling faded out of earshot, Arthur screamed and threw a glass cup against the wall. He stood there, screaming and smashing things until he was left in the middle of the room, alone and sobbing. Nobody came in to question the ruckus. Everyone but Alfred knew.

* * *

The air in the park was heavy and dense. It was about to rain.

"Go long!" Alfred called. Arthur obeyed, ran out, and held his arms out for the catch. Fuck. He missed it.

"Use your eyes, dude! You ain't even looking!" Alfred yelled.

Fuck this game. Arthur was never any good and almost never played it because of that reason. He picked up the football and examined its white lacing. Was this right? Spending time with Alfred because he was about to… about to…

"He's about to die," Arthur admitted to himself. "He's about to die and leave me here by myself."

Arthur began to cry. The sky wept along with him.

Alfred jogged up beside Arthur. "Yo, dude, don't just stand there," he said, draping his jacket over his friend's head. "Let's go inside. That tea place you like is just down the road, right?"

Arthur knew he couldn't respond without his voice shaking, so he simply nodded his head.

* * *

"God, I hate tea," Alfred twisted his face when the liquid slid down his throat. "How do you even stand this shit?"

Arthur shrugged, unable to speak.

"I'm gonna go get some coffee or something," Alfred said before pushing back his chair and getting in line.

It didn't make any sense. He had what, sixty years left last time they had seen each other? In school they taught that it could change, but very rarely did. Nobody knew why the system had bugs or what caused them. God, the numbers were so stressful. They were the worst things Arthur had ever seen. He buried his face in his palms and sighed. How long could he keep up the act?

Alfred was back with his piping hot coffee. He jabbered on about how the cashier gave it to him for free and how he still had that, "good 'ole Jones charm". When Arthur looked at the cashier, she stared at the two with pity in her eyes. Arthur looked away.

Alfred blew on his coffee cautiously, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He looked a bit silly with his face like that. Arthur chuckled.

"What?" Alfred raised a brow.

"Oh nothing," Arthur smiled. Alfred pouted. "What?" he said again.

"Nothing, love. Carry on."

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa!" Alfred almost spilled his coffee. "What did you just call me?"

The other man grew bright red. He dropped the L-word. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck.

"Spit it out, Artie."

Alfred was dense, yes, but there was no doubt that he would pick up Arthur's feelings for him if he went about calling him 'love' and 'darling'. That was the last thing either of them need. Love when one was about to be ripped away.

"G-gov," Arthur covered up quickly. Seriously? _Gov_?

Alfred cocked a brow in suspicion, mouth smirking, but let it slide. "Whatever you say." He went about blowing on his coffee.

"Say," he looked up again, "Why have you been acting funny?"

Arthur's head snapped up. "What do you mean? I haven't seen you in months, that's all."

"Yeah," Alfred looked down. "Listen, man, I've got something to tell you."

The two friends stared at each other. Arthur's heart stopped while Alfred's was racing.

"I'm- I'm going into war," Alfred said.

Arthur's insides were screeching. "Oh?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Arthur panicked and darted his eyes at the numbers above Alfred's head. Two weeks, two days, eight hours, thirty-four minutes, and seventeen seconds. No. He can't die in war. No. He wouldn't allow it. Think, Arthur, THINK. How can you stop him? Why can't you fucking say it out loud? Tell him, Arthur. Tell him to stay home. Tell him to live. Ask him to… to...

"Why can't you stay?" Arthur blurted out loud.

"Well- I… I want to do something for this country, Arthur. It's been good to me and… Well… I've been in training while you were away and I just want to do this, okay?" He finished his sentence quickly.

"Oh."

There was something at the edge of Alfred's tongue. _What about my number, Artie? What does it say about all this? _He tried to read Arthur's face for clues, but he was never any good at it.

"Want to go back home, Alfred?" Arthur suddenly said.

Alfred nodded.

The men ran back in the rain, laughing despite the tense air surrounding them. They were like children, blissfully unaware of everything but thinking they knew it all. They ran up to Alfred's gate. He fished around for his key, but realized that he had forgotten it.

"Hey! Someone! I locked myself out!" he yelled into the receiver. He rapidly pushed on the button requesting for someone to answer. Both of them were laughing. Their numbers were ticking.

"Remember your key next time, Alfred," a servant's voice projected from the machine. A buzz sounded and the gate was opened. They both ran to the front porch, panting and laughing for no reason in particular.

When both men's laughter died and the only sound to be heard was the rain and each other's breathing, they made eye contact. Alfred stepped forward and cleared his throat awkwardly. Arthur inhaled deeply, mustered up all his courage, and pulled the man into a kiss, not breaking it until tears were sliding down both of their cheeks. When they pulled back, neither of them knew and they both thought it was just rain. Arthur didn't even know if Alfred reciprocated his feelings, but he wanted- no, _needed-_ to at least kiss him goodbye.

"Come home safe?" Arthur whispered.

"Yeah, yeah I will," Alfred answered before closing the space in between hem again. He wanted to stay like this forever, but he knew the numbers wouldn't let him.

The next morning came. Both were lying naked in Alfred's bed, awake and unwilling to move. Alfred traced small circles into Arthur's back, staring at the ceiling and hoping to God this wasn't going to be the last day he'd spend with him.

"Alfred?" A servant knocked. "Alfred, it's time to get up. It's almost time to go."

"Yeah, I know," he answered without moving.

Both listened to the footsteps fade away into the long hallway. The clock was ticking. Their clocks were ticking.

"I guess I gotta get ready," Alfred said, stroking Arthur's hair.

"Mmhmm," Arthur mumbled into the crook of Alfred's neck.

They lay there for a moment longer until Alfred felt hot tears fall onto his skin.

"Hey, Arthur," he said softly. The man looked up. "I'll be fine, okay?"

Arthur only cried harder.

A creeping feeling made its way into Alfred's chest. He knew he shouldn't ask, but…

"Does it have to do with my numbers?" He broke the taboo- the unspoken rule.

Arthur had to muster up all the courage he had to stop himself from screaming and tearing himself to bits. You're not supposed to interfere with these sorts of things. It'll only mess things up even more. A man tried to keep his wife alive and away from her ticking numbers, only to realize that they started to tick down faster and faster until she had a heart attack. A new set of parents tried to keep their baby alive by bringing him to the hospital before his time ran out, trying to beat the clock. The clock ended up beating them. They were all hit by a car on the way there.

It wasn't an exact science. There was one thing exact about it, though. There were never any pleasant surprises, only unexpected disasters.

"No, love, you'll be fine," Arthur lied. He couldn't bear sending Alfred off into war knowing that he'd die. And who knew? The war could end in a week and he could come home safe and sound. Maybe the world would end in two weeks and a day and they could die in each other's arms. Yeah. Something beautiful like that.

A wave of relief washed over Alfred. "So don't worry, okay? I'll come home, Artie. I'll come home and we'll be happy and eat as much rationed food as we can. We'll buy chocolate for the neighborhood kids and take everyone on a plane to go to England and have a wedding. A big 'ole wedding. We'll have a really huge ice cream cake and we'll dance to that stupid song you've always liked. Then, we'll adopt kids from China. We'll name 'em after your folks and raise them so that they become great people. We'll retire in some secluded community for old people in Florida and we'll play golf and cricket as much as you want. We'll make it through this, okay, Artie? I'll come home for you. I promise."

Arthur was overcome with emotion. Had Alfred just proposed to him? They had been friends for a lifetime, but they didn't know that they loved each other until last night. It was all happening too fast. The war, the proposal, and those bloody numbers. Those fucking bloody numbers. He pressed his face deeper into Alfred's skin.

"Alfred, please, it's time to get up," a servant called.

Alfred hollered that he'd be down in a minute before turning his attention back to his best friend, his lover. He really hoped that what he just said was going to come true.

* * *

At the train station, the two men stood in front of each other.

"Be here when I come home?" Alfred asked, trailing a hand down Arthur's face.

"Yeah."

Alfred pulled him into one last kiss before the intercom gave a final warning for those going onboard. It was soft and sad. Arthur didn't like the taste of it. It tasted like a goodbye kiss, but from Alfred instead of from him.

Alfred watched his lover's figure grow smaller and smaller as the train traveled further away.

_Wait for me, Arthur._

* * *

When Arthur arrived at Alfred's home, he saw that the servants were already packing up.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" he yelled. "He's not dead yet! He'll come back! He'll come back for me!" He rapidly unpacked the boxes and set things up as they were. "Quit acting like he's already dead!"

"Arthur," a butler said softly, his voice brimming with pity.

"He's not dead!" he cried, "He said he would come back! He's going to come back for me! Because… Because he loves me. Because he's my best friend and he would never leave me," he sobbed. Why did he have to discover that Alfred loved him back? Why did Alfred fucking do that? What an idiot. What a bloody idiot. Didn't he know he was going to die? Arthur wept on the floor, servants walking by and shaking their heads at the poor guy.

* * *

Fifteen days later, Arthur lay in Alfred's bed alone. The whole rest of the house was cleaned out. All the servants were gone. The government would come and repossess the home as soon as they heard about Alfred's death.

The bombing alarm went off. Arthur couldn't even hear it. Alfred should be dead by now. The man that was so vibrant and full of life was probably shot up and laying in a field somewhere. Arthur tried not to think about it, but it was all that filled his mind.

The alarms kept on wailing. Arthur didn't care. He didn't care when a bomb hit the neighbor's house and set the front yard on fire. He didn't care until he realized that Alfred knew. Alfred knew the whole time. Then, he suddenly cared. He tried to get out of the house as fast as he could. He had to get to the underground shelter. It was right outside the window. He had to make it. He had to make it for Alfred.

A bomb hit the bedroom before he could get the window open.

* * *

The mailman drove up to the ruins of where the letter was supposed to go. He clicked his tongue. What a shame. Hopefully the folks made it out before the bomb hit them. He couldn't make out any furniture in the house, so they probably moved out long before. Should he bring it back to the headquarters? He looked down to look at the return address. It was from a soldier. Oh? Jones? Poor guy, he had no family left. There was no place to forward the message to, since it was sent to his own home. Yeah, this was the remnants of the Jones mansion alright. The whole neighborhood was a mess. It was pretty hard to tell since these bombed out places all looked the same.

_Fuck it_, the mailman thought. _I wonder how Jones is doing_. He opened the letter.

_Dear Artie,_

_ It's rough out here in Madagascar. There's loads of weird shit going on. Every night, the crew and I hear screaming. It goes on for hours and hours. At first, I couldn't sleep because of it, but now I've gotten used to it. It's pretty fucked up._

_ Every day I think about you. I know it sounds cheesy, but I honestly do. Whenever I feel like giving up and throwing myself into a ditch wielding a live hand grenade, I think about you and the 2.5 kids we're gonna have. I wonder if they're gonna get your accent or mine. I hope they get mine, because I don't need more stuffy little voices to nag me every day. I gotta admit, though, I kinda miss that over here._

_ By the time this letter gets home, which is God knows when, you might be (something was heavily crossed out here) away. I just wanna set things straight. I went into war because of you. I've always been looking at your number, ever since we met, and wondered why it was so short. At first, I tried staying away from you, but I couldn't help but fall in love with you. I know, it sounds really dumb, but it's true. I tried and tried to find a way to make the number longer. I did everything I could. Remember that time I forced you to exercise? Yeah, well, it was because of your number. I actually think that made it smaller. I dunno. Sorry 'bout that._

_But anyway, I knew that this was a long shot, Artie, but you're worth every shot I could take. I hoped that me going to the war would help it end. Maybe I could end it before something bad happened to you because of it. Maybe I could be your hero._

_ You're probably SUPER pissed at this point. I know, I'm dumb, but I'm not sorry. If you've received this letter, don't worry, you're safe and sound. It's day fourteen and you're technically supposed to die tomorrow, but if you're reading this, it's past tomorrow and you're alive! You beat the numbers!_

_ I gotta go, now. The guys are throwing a little party before our siege tomorrow. I guess they all think it's my birthday or something, because they're being really nice. They're a silly bunch of guys. My birthday is tomorrow. I thought they knew that._

_ Anyway, I love you, Artie._

_-Alfred_


End file.
